


Smile

by Neteri_Draconis



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crime, Dark Oc, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Organized Crime, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neteri_Draconis/pseuds/Neteri_Draconis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had returned to Gotham to heal, to forget, to reclaim what I'd lost. I had not expected that I would find myself needing the help of a red-haired boy with the wild grin in order to do so. And I certainly had not expected that he would become the most feared criminal in all of Gotham, nor that I would love him even still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

I pulled my jacket tighter around my thin frame as I huddled in the corner of the cab's backseat. The cab driver apparently had no heater, but he'd offered to drive me to Wayne Manor at a reduced price. I'd spent most of my pitiful sum of money on small snacks to tide me over during the two day bus trip, and I'd only just barely had enough to pay the cab fare.

My eyes drifted out the window, and I took in the city of Gotham for the first time in five years. It was… a lot more gray than I remembered it to be, even during the winter. I spied homeless people on virtually every block I passed. I know that I hadn't been very attentive to the world around me at thirteen, but I would have remembered seeing so many people living on the streets. Gotham had changed. But so had I.

It was long past rush hour, so the ride was blessedly short. Before long, the gates to Wayne Manor came into view. The manor was just as I remembered it. It was still just as grand and imposing as before. At least something had remained constant.

Alfred Pennyworth appeared at the manor's front door practically the moment the cab wheeled into the driveway. As soon as the car came to a stop, Alfred opened the door for me and gave me a gracious bow. I watched him carefully as I slid out of the cab and onto the gravel.

"Welcome back to Wayne Manor, Miss Danielle," he said with a kindly smile. "I trust your journey was pleasant?"

I nodded and forced my lips upward into a smile. It must have looked awful. God knows that it felt awful just making the expression.

"Dany!"

A pang of… something hit me in the chest, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe again. No one had called me that in a long time.

I turned to see a boy, maybe about twelve or thirteen, come barrelling out of the house toward me. He stopped just a few feet short of me and hung back. He must have seen my alarm.

My eyes raked over the boy. Straight black hair, dark brown eyes, the Wayne nose, and my Aunt Martha's smile. I'd recognize that boy a mile away.

"Hey, Bruce. Long time, no see," I greeted softly. My smile became a touch more genuine. "Been getting into lots of trouble, I hope?"

"Not since you've been away, Miss Danielle. Thank god," Alfred replied for him.

I crossed my arms. "Has he been smothering you with rules, Bruce?"

Bruce grinned. "It's not that bad, Dany."

"Oh no, the apocalypse has truly began!" I cried in mock terror, clutching my hands to my heart dramatically. "Bruce Wayne has actually started to behave himself! This offense to nature must be remedied! Tell me Bruce, when was the last time you-"

"Not in this house, Miss Danielle," Alfred cut me off with a warning note, but I could tell that he was secretly amused.

"Spoilsport," I muttered, feeling my teeth vibrate against each other. Sweet Mary, I was cold.

"Come with me, Dany. I'll show you to your room," said Bruce, beckoning me forward with his hand. "Alfred, if you would get her bags please?"

"As you wish, sir."

I thanked Alfred and went to follow Bruce inside. The moment I stepped through the front door, I let out a soft sigh of relief. For the first time in years, I felt as though I had come home,  _really_  come home. My father's house in Metropolis had stopped being my home the day mom had passed. It had been a gilded cage, nothing more. But this, this was home.

"Hey Bruce, I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am that you and Alfred are letting me stay here," I began as I followed him through the manor. Bruce paused and turned to look up at me. "I… I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't invited me to live here. So… thank you."

Bruce smiled and darted forward. Before I knew it, his arms were already encircling me in a big hug. I froze and grew completely stiff in panic. My heart began to beat an ungodly rhythm in my chest. His small, slender arms were like chains around my middle, and I felt an urge to rip them off of me.

"We're family, Dany," he said firmly, then pulled back slightly. "No thanks are needed."

I summoned enough willpower to keep still and force a pained smile. I lifted a hand and patted Bruce gently on the back, hoping that would be all the physical contact needed for this moment. I could not handle more, not without losing my head.

If he sensed my discomfort, he gave no sign of it, and he let go of me after a moment and continued to lead me through Wayne Manor. My heart rate began to slow back down to normal. I took several deep, quiet breaths to calm myself down, and I focused my attention on my surroundings.

Little had changed on the inside of the manor, either. I could find my way through the house blindfolded, if need be. I did not need the help getting to my room. It was the same one that I'd always used in the past when I used to visit, but I suspected that Bruce wanted my company. Who was I to deny him? As long as he didn't try to hug me again, I would be fine.

"Alfred will have lunch ready in a little while, but in the meantime, here's your room." Bruce motioned to a familiar bedroom with equally familiar drawings on the walls. My jaw dropped, and I lifted my hand to lightly touch the frame of a particularly old sketch of Gotham's city hall, complete with the people and traffic milling about it. I had forgotten about that piece.

"We kept a lot of your artwork. My dad was convinced you'd be the next Michelangelo, and he wanted to have an original of yours," Bruce said from behind me.

My hand dropped back to my side. "Michelangelo was a sculptor, not a sketch artist," I replied with a frown. "And I have not touched a sketchbook in years. I have no inspiration for such things anymore."

"You will again. You always found inspiration here."

"Perhaps so…" I trailed off, thinking back to the days where I used to spend hours just drawing. I'd forego my homework just to sketch down a picture that had been nagging me all day, and I'd spend an entire afternoon with just my sketchbook, pencil, and a cup of hot chocolate.

A thought occurred to me. "Is Rosie's Coffee Shop still open?"

Bruce nodded. Then a pleased smile broke out across his face.

"After lunch, Alfred will drive you there, if you want," he suggested. "I know you loved that place."

Go back to Rosie's Coffee Shop? Could I do that? Could I reclaim that place where I'd been so content and hopeful? Would it even the be same, or would it simply be another cafe as it was to everyone else?

There was only one way to find out.

"That… would be lovely. Thank you, Bruce," I replied hesitantly.

"Don't thank me, Dany. This is your home now."

I opened my mouth, but no words came. There was nothing to say, simply accept. His words squeezed my heart, but the feeling of happiness felt hollow. Everything felt hollow, forced. Instead of speaking, I just nodded in mute agreement and watched as Bruce turned to leave.

With one foot out in the hallway, he stopped and whirled back around. He looked as though he had a thousand words to say but couldn't think of the first to use. He stood there in silence for a moment, deliberating before finally speaking.

"I don't know everything about what happened to you," he began with a firm note in his voice, as though pushing forward with only his will. "Alfred won't tell me. But I know enough. I know that you were very brave in what you did, and I don't blame you one bit-"

"Nothing about what I did was brave, Bruce," I snapped, feeling my hackles begin to rise. "Kick a dog enough times, and it will do the same thing."

Bruce blinked, taken aback, and he stared at me, wide-eyed. He collected himself quickly and swallowed.

"Regardless, you did what you had to, and I'll never hold that against you. I just wanted you to know that."

He turned on his heel and was gone. I stared at the space where he'd been, processing his words. After a moment, I sighed to myself, shook my head, and began to take off my jacket.

A flicker of color out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I looked up, coming face to face with my reflection. My gaze rested on the dark purple and green bruise that encircled my left eye and spread down across my cheekbone, and I cringed. It really did look horrible, even after nearly a week.

I supposed that I should feel somewhat grateful. After all, my eye was no longer swollen shut and bleeding. Yay.

Pursing my lips in irritation, I took down my ponytail, allowing my dark hair to fall around my shoulders. I pushed my bangs over my black eye. Since my hair was naturally black, the style made me look somewhat emo, but I really didn't want people to stare at my bruise when I left the house. And I learned from experience that makeup only covered up small bruises and would not cover up this.

Lunch was a quiet affair and went by quickly. I remember there being a conversation, but I don't recall the particulars. What I do remember is asking Alfred for a ride into town, and then climbing into the back of the car not long after.

Gotham was the same as I had seen it only a few short hours ago: gray, tired, colorless, and lifeless. At least, that was how it seemed to me, but that could have been my empty heart shining through, tainting what I saw. Perhaps it was beautiful. If so, I could not see it.

The car turned down a familiar street, and I found myself staring at a red sign with "Rosie's Coffee Shop" emblazoned on it in gold writing. My eyes travelled down the cafe's storefront, and I found myself smiling ever so faintly. It was as quaint and unique as I had left it.

I thanked Alfred and let him know to pick me up before dark, which was only a couple of hours from then. Then, steeling myself, I headed into Rosie's Coffee Shop.

The rich smell of brewing coffee assaulted my senses the moment I stepped inside, and my smile grew. For a moment, I felt as though I was thirteen again, dorky and naive with a sketchbook always in hand, and all was right with the world. None of that was the case for me anymore, but it was nice to pretend.

I stepped up to the counter, and the barista looked up, shot me a welcoming smile, and asked for my order. She was a slight creature, probably not much older than me, and she had nervous fidget that didn't seem to ever stop. Vaguely, I was reminded of a squirrel, jumpy and wide-eyed.

I shook my head slightly to clear my thoughts and ordered a hot chocolate. The squirrelly barista nodded and set to work getting my order. I waited patiently by the counter, content to simply stand and take in the peaceful atmosphere.

However, that atmosphere was not to last for long. Within seconds, a harsh cologne wafted over to my nose, and I gagged slightly on the offensive smell. I was so focused on the cologne that I did not notice the man coming up behind me, and I jumped when he entered my peripheral vision.

"Hey, Suzie! Get me a coffee, will you sweetheart!" he called to the barista. She squeaked and nearly dropped the pot of dark brown liquid.

"I-I just a moment, Hunter. I'm serving another customer," Suzie protested weakly, her hands starting to shake far beyond her habitual fidget. She was scared.

I watched Hunter out of the corner of my eye. He was a plain looking man of maybe twenty-five or a little older, and now that he was up close, I noticed the scents of stale cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat that hung about him like a cloud of filth. I fixed my expression into one of complete neutrality and continued to wait patiently for the barista to clean up her mess and get me my hot chocolate. As soon as I could, I'd move to a spot in the cafe furthest from that smelly creature.

Something warm and rough grazed my butt, and I froze, not wanting to believe that this Hunter had the nerve to touch a stranger. It had to have been an accident. But then, the sensation returned, except this time it was deliberate and a bit forceful. Immediately, my body became rigid, and I felt my fingers curl into claws as bile crawled up my throat.

"Aren't you a pretty one," Hunter murmured to me. "You must be new around here. Why don't we get to know one another?"

My lip curled in utter disgust. "Get your hand off of me."

He chuckled and his hot, foul breath blew across my face. "Just being friendly, sweetheart. No need to be rude."

I snapped and my vision became tinged with red. In an instant, my hand shot out, closed around Hunter's wrist, and twisted hard till I felt his joints protest. He yelped and tried to pull back, but my grip was strong. I met his shocked gaze head on and glared.

"I slit the throat of the last man who touched me without my consent," I hissed in a low voice, feeling my fury burn in my veins as I stared down the vile man. "What makes you think that you'll be any different? Hmm?"

"Get off me, you crazy bitch!"

In response, I twisted harder, and he fell to his knees, crying out in pain. I brought my knee up in one quick motion and slammed it into Hunter's face. Blood sprayed out from his nose and onto the tile floor. Satisfied, I let go of him and stepped back.

"Word of advice,  _get out_!" I growled at him.

Holding his bleeding, broken nose, Hunter scrambled to his feet and stumbled out the door. It slammed shut as he left, and the shop keepers bell rang into silence. Then, all at once, applause broke out around the cafe. I blinked, taken aback, and whirled around to see most of the customers and the baristas clapping.

"Finally, someone kicked his ass!" a teenager at one of the back tables yelled out across the din.

Chuckles sprang up around the cafe, and I ducked my head in embarrassment and turned back to the counter, cheeks flaming. I had not taken into account that others would be watching. Of course they'd be watching. But I'd been too absorbed in my anger to notice anyone else in the shop.

"Ahem," coughed the barista, Suzie. I started and began reaching for my wallet. My eyes grazed over the added whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and I frowned in confusion and alarm. I couldn't pay for that, not with the add-ons.

She noticed my frown and smiled gratefully, sliding the cup towards me. "It's on the house. Thank you for getting rid of him. He's a brute."

"I… uh," I stumbled, not sure of how to respond to her thanks. "It, uh, was no problem. Thanks for the drink."

Still blushing furiously. I grabbed the hot chocolate and headed toward the one deserted corner of the shop. I plopped down on a cushioned seat and hunched over my drink, as though I was trying to disappear from view. That didn't work, and, looking back on that moment, I'm rather glad that it didn't.

A boy, probably around my age, with flaming red hair, dark green eyes, and the most mischievous smile I'd ever seen, slid into a chair opposite me. He grinned broadly at me, laughter in his eyes as he took me in.

"Heya, gorgeous. I'm Jerome." Immediately, I stiffened and my back went ramrod straight under his gaze. Unfortunately, that caused my side bangs to sweep slightly back. He whistled. "That's quite the shiner. How'd you get it?"

"I'll give you a demonstration if you keep this up," I growled threateningly.

Jerome laughed. It was a high, utterly gleeful sound that had my lips twitching upwards, despite myself. I pursed my lips into a thin line and glared stonily at the redhead.

"I'm sure you will," he chuckled. Then, he leaned forward and rested his chin on his palms, green eyes sparkling with childish excitement. "So, who'd you kill? Was it the same guy who gave you that?" He motioned to the black eye.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I muttered neutrally, not entirely certain how I was supposed to deal with this odd boy. What was odder still was that I didn't feel at all threatened by him. A little uncomfortable, yes, but not threatened.

"Oh, I would," he said, still grinning.

"Why?"

Jerome laughed again. "Isn't it obvious? You're the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen. The way you made that man bow to you…" his eyes fluttered shut for a moment before popping open, glee oozing from his gaze, "Riveting! You're a born showman. Well, woman."

"You're weird," I replied, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. His smile dimmed slightly, and I immediately felt bad for saying that. He  _was_  weird, but he was beginning to grow on me, odd as that sounds. Maybe it was his open admiration. Yes, that must have been it.

He shrugged casually. "Weirdness is all a matter of perspective. That slimeball you threw out probably thought you were the epitome of weird. If I remember correctly, he called you a, what was it? Oh, right. A crazy bitch. Now, I know you're not crazy, and the bitch is debatable."

 _Debatable_? I snorted. "You really know how to charm a lady."

"Why thank you!" Jerome laughed. He pulled back in his seat and gave a small, but showy, bow. My lips twitched again involuntarily. He was so odd, yet rather amusing.

I took another sip of my hot chocolate, my eyes still focused on the red-haired boy in front of me. He was watching me closely, probably waiting for me to speak again. I set my drink down and sat back in my seat, gazes still locked with Jerome. My fingernails drummed softly on the wooden tabletop, and I began to wonder what would happen if I told this stranger everything. What was the worst that could happen? It seemed to me that I'd never see this boy again, so why not?

"My father."

He blinked, obviously not quite understanding what I meant.

"You wanted to know who I'd killed," I clarified. "It was my father. And you're right, he did give me this." I motioned to my bruised eye.

Jerome's grin vanished and he stared at me in something akin to shock, but there was more than shock in his eyes, more that I couldn't quite place. Then, something in his expression shifted, and his eyes, which before had only been excited and mischievous, were now hungry. A slow, dark smile spread across his face, and he leaned in over the table.

"Don't stop there, gorgeous," he encouraged. I probably should have stopped at this point, but there was something about him that made me want to keep going. "Tell me more!"

And so I did. I took a deep breath and began, "It's quite simple, really. He was drunk and angry, like he always was. He wanted to… well, it doesn't really matter what he wanted me to do. I said no and told him to go fuck himself. He came at me and knocked me down, kicked me in the ribs a few times, then he began to punch me." I lightly touched the purple bruise and shuddered as my mind brought up images of that night.

"And then what happened?" Jerome egged on in an enraptured whisper when I didn't go on. I took another sip of hot chocolate.

"We were in the kitchen," I continued. "When I fell, I knocked over the knife block by accident and they all went flying across the floor. When he bent down to hit me with his fists, I grabbed the nearest knife and brought it up in one slice. One slice was all it took, and he fell right beside me. I watched him bleed out and die in seconds. I called the cops. They came and ruled it as self defense. Now I'm here. So there you go."

I took a gulp of my drink, still watching Jerome as I did so. He had not moved a muscle as I had been speaking, and he remained unmoving after I'd finished, eyes locked on me with unhindered fascination. Despite myself, I found that I liked that he was looking at me with such intensity. It was different, and interesting.

"What was it like?" he pushed.

My brows knit together. "What was what like? The beating? Worse than normal. Being poked and prodded and questioned by cops and doctors all night long? Boring as hell."

"No silly, watching him die." I paused, frozen. "What was it like to watch the life leave him? What was it like to know that he could never touch you again?"

"What, are you some kind of shrink or something?" I snapped. He said nothing and just continued to stare at me with those dark green eyes with such fascinated intensity. It was as though he would cease to exist if he did not receive an answer.

Unwittingly, my mind went back to that night. In my mind's eye, I saw my father choke on his own blood and reach for me, face slack and white with terror and blood loss. I had just stared, unable to take my eyes off the sight. Then, for the first time in five years, I had smiled. Really smiled.

"Freedom," I said, not even realizing that I had opened my mouth to speak. Jerome's eyes lit up. "It felt like freedom."

Jerome leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, smiling softly. "Thank you," he whispered. I glanced at Jerome, suddenly a little worried.

"Should I be concerned?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

He opened his eyes and refocused on me. "Concerned?"

"Yeah, I just told you about my father's violent death, and you look like you're about to have an orgasm. You're not a serial killer, are you?" I eyed him carefully from over the top of my mug as I took another gulp.

"Would that bother you if I were?" Jerome asked, his trademark grin reappearing.

I paused to consider my answer. I almost lied out of habit, but it did not seem right for me to lie to this boy who I'd shared so much with. He was not like everyone else. He did not flinch when my less than human pieces came through. He smiled instead.

"Not particularly," I replied coolly. "I just like to know my chances of being chopped up and put into a freezer at any given moment. I like living, you see."

Jerome threw back his head and laughed aloud, green eyes sparkling with mirth as though what I'd said was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. The sound was infectious, and before I knew it, I was grinning. He caught sight of my smile, and his laughter died down a little. He pointed at me.

"You, gorgeous, are priceless. I like you," he said, still cackling to himself.

I snorted. "Oh joy. Now I can put down in my journal under highlights, 'A serial killer said he liked me today. My life is complete.'"

"I'm not a serial killer, gorgeous. I promise," he said, but the sincerity in his voice didn't quite match up with the amused grin on his face. "Even if I were, I wouldn't hurt you."

"Uh huh. That's what they all say," I replied, half serious, half sarcastic. "So, Jerome the serial killer, tell me about yourself. Surely you do other things than prey on the helpless."

Jerome rolled his eyes. "Well, when I'm not cutting people up and storing them in my trailer, I work for the circus with my mother. We're in town for the month."

 _A circus?_  "Mobility. That is important when you want to avoid capture," I deadpanned. "What's it like working for the circus?"

"Never a dull moment. Especially with mommy dearest around." To my surprise, there was the faintest traces of venom in his tone, but it wasn't directed at me.

"Oh? Do tell. It sounds like there's a story."

"Well, since you asked," he sat up straight in his chair, almost as though he was preparing to tell a story of epic proportions. And he began.

Jerome was a very good storyteller, that much was clear. He recounted some of the humorous and ridiculous stories that he'd seen play out at the circus, and his energy and enthusiasm brought a faint smile back to my face as I listened to him. It was impossible not to smile, and every time I did so, Jerome's face would light up, his enthusiasm became brighter, and my smile only grew. It was cycle that that continued on until I was chuckling at each funny moment.

"...and then, the three of them fell out of the trailer, all naked and covered in purple paint! The two men limped off, trying to put their sodden clothes back on. They had to walk through the entire camp to get back to their cars."

I chuckled at the mental image. "Oh Sweet Mary, that's terrible! What did the snake dancer do? She must have been mortified."

Jerome scoffed. "Oh no. Mother dearest has no shame. She went over to where I sat and yelled at me to clean up everything. Then she waltzed back into the trailer."

"The snake dancer is your  _mother_?" My jaw dropped.

"Don't forget to add 'circus whore' on that list," he said with the barest hints of bitterness coloring his voice.

I shook my head. "Wait, so you put paint bombs in your own trailer? Surely you knew that you'd have to clean the mess up, right?"

Jerome shrugged. "If I hadn't, they would have been at it in the next room all night. It was three in the morning. I made them stop so I could get some sleep. Paint only takes so long to clean up."

"You're one crazy kid," I grinned. Jerome's expression dropped. "All the best people are. Normal is overrated."

His smile returned in full force. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Does this mean you're crazy too?"

I was just about to speak when my phone began to chime in my pocket. I dropped my hand from the now-empty mug, and I fished my phone out of my pocket and brought it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Miss Danielle, I am waiting outside Miss Rosie's to bring you home. Do you require assistance, miss?" Alfred's voice came over the speaker.

My eyes widened, and I glanced down at my watch. I was supposed to have met Alfred outside over twenty minutes ago.

"I, uh, no thank you Alfred. I apologize for the delay. I will be out momentarily," I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket. "Fuck me," I cursed.

"So soon? Don't you want me to buy you dinner first?"

"What?" I looked up, confused. Then I realized what I had said, and I blushed. "No, no, no, no! I was supposed to meet my ride half an hour ago. I lost track of the time."

I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out the remainder of my snack money, and placed it on the table as a tip. Then, I began to stand up.

"Will you be back here again?" Jerome stood up at the same time.

"I certainly hope so. I used to come here everyday years ago," I replied, meeting his eyes with a smile. "Maybe I'll stop by the circus this week. You can show me your murder lair."

Jerome groaned in fake exasperation. "How many times must I tell you that I'm not a serial killer?"

"One googolplex. I'm slow-witted, so repetition helps," I deadpanned.

"It's a wonder you learn anything at that rate," he shot back.

"It is a burden I must bear." A car horn went off in the street outside, and I was reminded of what I should be doing. "I really have to go now. I'll see you around, Jerome." I made my way to the door, and his hand brushed my arm.

"Wait, you haven't told me your name yet!" Jerome called.

I paused by the door and turned, about to give him my name, but another option popped into my head. I sent him a lopsided smirk and said:

"Now, where would the fun be in that?"

I slipped through the door. It closed behind me, but not before I heard Jerome's unique cackle behind me. A giggle escaped me before I could stop it. That boy really did have an effect on me.

I apologized profusely to Alfred for making him wait so long, and he just nodded and sent me a look that clearly said 'don't do it again.' I climbed into the car, and off we went. I settled back into the leather seat and stared out the window with unseeing eyes, thinking about the unique day I'd had and the odd boy who had made me laugh, something which I hadn't done in what seemed like an eternity.

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that the dark, drab city around me had grown a little more colorful since I'd last seen it a few hours ago. I felt different as well. Lighter, as though a weight had been taken off my chest. There was still a great deal of weight pressing on me, but it no longer hurt as much as it did. It was a wonderful feeling.

My fingers twitched as I rode in the car, staring out at the city blurring past. I glanced down at my hands, which seemed unable to keep still. They had not done that since… since I last felt a need to draw.

The car came to a stop at a red light, and I asked Alfred if he had a pen and some paper. He passed back a small notepad and a pencil, which was all that was available in the car, but I wasn't complaining. It was more than I'd used in years.

For a moment, I paused, deliberating on what I should draw, but the only image that came to mind was that of Jerome's face. Nodding to myself, I began the sketch with a tentative hand, but after a few minutes, the motions grew more and more familiar to me, and I no longer hesitated. By the time we arrived back at the Wayne Manor, the face of a boy with the wildest smile ever had already taken shape on the paper. The boy who had, in one afternoon, sparked an inspiration which had been dead for five years.


	2. Chapter 2

The first morning I woke up in Wayne Manor, I had an awful feeling that the afternoon before had just been a dream. In a panic, I leapt out of the bed and rushed over to the vanity. A huge sigh of relief left me when I saw that the drawing of Jerome was indeed real and had not disappeared. It had been real.

I brought the sketch closer to my face and examined my work. It was clear that the boy in the picture was Jerome, but the lines were rough, imprecise, and slightly off in proportion. My lips curled in dissatisfaction. I was out of practice.

A thought occurred to me, and I padded over to the closet where I was keeping my unpacked things. I opened the closet doors and knelt by my duffel bag, and I reached inside and pulled out an old, battered purple sketchbook. My fingertips reverently traced the edges of the book before opening it fully.

The first drawing was one of my mother laughing with tears streaming down her face, drawn from memory. My chest tightened painfully, and I quickly flipped the page. The next one was of Bruce when he was little, playing with a set of legos. Aunt Martha and mother giggling conspiratorially amongst each other. Father reading the paper with a glass of scotch in one hand. All of the first twenty pages were portraits of family members and friends in various situations.

The next pages were landscapes, snapshots of bustling city life, street dancers in action, wild horses galloping across a prairie, and countless other scenarios. Each drawing was dated, and there was one for nearly every week. Then, after over two hundred drawings spanning over three years, they stopped. The pages after were horribly marred with frustrated black charcoal marks, crossing out and covering up the incomplete drawing underneath. Then, I came upon my last drawing.

It was a self-portrait, my first one. The lines were harsh and rough, but the drawing was unmistakably me. My face was a covered with a motley of bruises and scrapes, and my lip was split and bleeding down my chin. But it was the expression that drew my attention. My eyes were dead and flat, and my face was empty of all emotion.

I stared at the person on the page for several long moments, thinking back to the time I had drawn that. It had not been a creative spark that had entered my soul and spurred my fingers to act. It had been a spark of hatred and defiance. I had drawn it to remind myself that although I was beaten, I was not dead. I was still there, and I would survive. And I did.

Flipping the page again, my eyes fell upon blank, slightly yellowed paper. I pulled out the sketch of Jerome and clipped it to the empty page with a paper clip. I gave it a date and turned to another blank page, bringing my pencil to the paper. My lips pursed as I struggled to think of something to draw.

Nothing presented itself. Nothing at all. Even Jerome's unique grin and sparkling eyes was fading from my mind's eye. I glared at the page for several minutes, racking my brain for something, anything, to draw. Nothing.

I huffed, closed the sketchbook, and put it back in my duffel bag. Just as I had finished zipping it up, there was a knock on my door.

"Dany, are you coming down to breakfast?" It was Bruce.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute," I called back.

I jumped to my feet and pulled on the robe lying on the side of my bed. I quickly ran a brush through my hair and sped over to the bathroom. Alfred always had meals served at certain times, and I'd learned the hard way that he won't prepare another breakfast just because someone oversleeps. I had no intention of missing breakfast, as I used to before.

Once I was done, I made my way downstairs to the dining room, guided by mostly by my nose. Bruce was already sitting down with a plate of eggs, sausage, toast, and a glass of orange juice. He looked up when I entered and smiled in greeting.

"Good morning," he said.

I ruffled his hair as I walked by. "Morning, kid. Is there anything left?"

"Yep. There's plenty."

"Awesomesauce. I'll get some of that. It looks good," I commented.

I pushed through the door to the kitchen and headed straight for the countertop with the food on it. Quickly, I made a small pile of eggs and bacon on my plate, and then I headed back to the dining room to sit with Bruce. Alfred was there when I entered. He glanced up and raised an eyebrow at me while he set out a pot of tea on the table.

"Good morning, Miss Danielle. I see that you have finally learned the skills of an early riser," he said, somewhat surprised.

"You know me, Alfred," I replied while I set down my plate and settled in a chair next to Bruce. "I love being unexpected. But more importantly, I love food. So, here I am." I shrugged. "Besides, I was already awake."

"Well, I am glad that you are finally developing good habits, Miss." Alfred set the cups of tea in front of me and Bruce.

"Thank you for breakfast, Alfred," Bruce piped in as he took a sip of his tea. I echoed the sentiment immediately after and began to dig into my food.

Just as I had finished, a white envelope slid into my field of vision. I glanced up, startled, to see that it was Alfred who had laid it by me on the table, and he had just left the room. I quirked an eyebrow at his retreat and picked up the letter to examine it better. The words "Gotham State University" popped out at me immediately, and I quickly opened the envelope, fingers surprisingly steady they moved underneath the envelope's flap.

Dear Ms. King,

On behalf of Gotham State University, I am pleased to congratulate you on your acceptance into our program for the fall 2016 semester. We were very impressed by your academic history and believe that you will prove that our confidence in you is not unfounded.

Enclosed with this letter, please find the necessary enrollment form for you to fill out and return by May 15, 2016. A timely response can increase your chances of finding accommodations on campus. You will be contacted upon receipt of the form by our student advisor, who will give you all further details regarding scheduling. If you have any questions regarding this letter, please feel free to contact us at the admissions office by phone at (983)564-5841 or email at admissions . We look forward to hearing back from you.

We at Gotham State University are pleased to welcome you and feel that you will make a great addition to our student body. We wish you the very best in success in your future and hope that you will find all of your needs satisfactorily met here. Thank you for your prompt attention and for choosing GSU.

Yours sincerely,

Edward Hamilton

The letter fell from my hands back down to the table, and I covered my mouth in shock. I had been accepted. The idea that I would be accepted by my dream school had been so preposterous to me, and yet I had still applied. It still seemed preposterous.

"Who's the letter from?" Bruce asked when he saw my reaction.

Wordlessly, I handed it to him. He took it, gave me a strange look, then began to read.

"Wow, Dany. This is wonderful new!" he exclaimed once he had finished reading. My expression did not change, causing his smile to drop. "Isn't it?"

That brought me out of my daze. "I- yes. Yes, it's the best."

"You don't look very happy about this. Are you alright?" Bruce asked, concerned.

I feigned a smile. "I'm fine, It's just shocking. I did not expect to get in. Just wait. I'll be jumping around in excitement shortly." It was a lie, but a hopeful one. I felt nothing, except for surprise. And even that felt hollow.

"Alright," he replied, although he looked like he didn't quite believe me. "We should do something to celebrate. Remember that pizza place by the river?"

I shot him a suspicious look. "Aren't you supposed to be in school today?"

"I'm homeschooled," he said with a smug smile.

"How about we'll do something this Saturday?" I suggested. "We can make a day of it. Right now, I'm not really feeling it."

Bruce nodded in understanding, his eyes softening, and he reached up to lay his hand on my shoulder. I forced myself not to stiffen too much, and I felt my right hand make a fist underneath the table, nails digging into the skin of my palms. My breathing hitched for a second before becoming forcedly calm and even.

"Of course. I understand. Whenever you are ready, we'll do something to celebrate this," he said gently.

I nodded. Sometimes I forgot that Bruce was no stranger to trauma. Of course, his was wholly different from mine, but he knew enough, more than he should have to. Mirroring him, I placed my left hand on his shoulder and gave a small squeeze.

"Thanks, Bruce."

"It's no problem, Dany."

I swallowed and looked away, removing my hand as I did so. I had to get out. Bruce must have noticed that I was uncomfortable, and he took his hand away as well. I quietly folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, then I stood and gathered up our empty plates.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Bruce pointed out. "Alfred will come take care of it. It's part of his job."

I shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Bruce didn't reply, and I left the dining room, plates in hand, and headed to the kitchen. I set the dishes down by the sink, and, seeing little else to do, began to wash them. I heard Alfred's footsteps come up behind me.

"Doing my job for me again, Miss Danielle? I see that some things have not changed," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I have to do something with my hands, Alfred," I replied. "Might as well be dishwashing."

The footsteps picked up again and came to a stop beside me. A hand entered my field of vision and picked a rinsed glass from my grasp. Alfred brought out a towel and began to dry the dishes alongside me.

"Still can't draw yet, Miss?" he asked softly.

I shook my head. "Nope. Not since… well, you know."

"I thought that had changed last night," he questioned. "You were highly engrossed in a sketch on the ride home. Or was that not a sketch?"

"No, it was a sketch," I said, handing him a plate. "A really bad one that came from a short-lived burst of inspiration, but it was a sketch. The inspiration is long gone, though."

Alfred hummed. "Perhaps if you revisit what gave you the inspiration to begin with? That boy you were flirting with might be willing to help."

My hands fumbled and a glass slipped from my fingers and into the sinkful of dishwater. Blood rushed to my face and burned as I retrieved the glass, rinsed it, and handed to Alfred.

"Did your SAS training make you come to that conclusion?" I replied noncommittally once I got myself under control.

A light spray of dishwater flew onto my face, and I flinched, surprised. My eyes widened and snapped over to Alfred, who was smirking down at me. He had flicked water at me.

"I didn't need special training to have seen that you liked that boy," he retorted. "Anyone walking down the bloody street would have noticed it if they looked in the window."

I shrugged, face burning. "He was funny. He made me laugh. What makes you think that he was my inspiration?"

The look that Alfred gave me was the epitome of unimpressed. He picked up the newly cleaned dishes and began putting them away.

"I'm not going to even dignify that question with a response, Miss."

I sighed and shook my head. It was just like Alfred to see everything, even the things I didn't want him to. Although, I shouldn't have been surprised. He was the only one alive who knew me better than I knew myself. When I was a child, I used to get annoyed at how accurate he was in predicting what I'd do, but now I was more or less resigned to it. There was something oddly comforting about someone understanding, even if it wasn't fully, what was going on in my head, rather than creating their own interpretation.

When he was done putting away the dishes, he turned to me, reached into his pocket, pulled out a small keychain and a credit card, and handed them to me. I eyed him in confusion, but I still took both.

"These are yours now," he said. "Be back before nine, and try not to wreck the car."

I blinked. "You're letting me use a car and the money? Me?"

"Well, obviously if you do something stupid with either, they'll be revoked, but yes," he replied simply. "You're eighteen years old, and you don't strike me as the little brat who always got in trouble and wouldn't sit still without a pencil and paper."

"I wasn't that bad-" Alfred gave me a look. "Alright, I was. Sorry. And thank you."

"Now go, have fun, make friends, meet that boy of yours," he commanded, making shooing motions. "It's time for Master Bruce's lessons."

I rolled my eyes and gave a mock salute.

"That was bloody terrible, Miss."

My lips lifted in a smirk, and I strode past him and out of the kitchen. I ran back up to my room and quickly got dressed. Once done, I checked in on Bruce, who was studying away, and I let him know that I was heading out. Then, I headed to the garage, where I hopped into one of the dark cars that inhabited the space.

The drive to Gotham was short as always, and, on the way there, I pondered where I would head first. It was clear that I needed new clothes, as most of mine were faded and some were sporting small holes and rips. However, I was not in the mood for clothes shopping.

Rosie's Coffee Shop was certainly a possibility, but I dismissed the idea. I wanted to revisit a few of my old hauntings, and the first place that came to mind was the library. I used to go there whenever Rosie's was closed, or whenever I just wanted to hide from the world in a quiet corner with my sketchbook or a novel. So, when I entered the city of Gotham, I turned down the right road that led me straight to the library.

The smell of books stopped me in my tracks momentarily when I entered, and I paused to take it in. The library had changed organization-wise, but it still felt the same. There were still books, bookshelves, computers, and people engrossed in a good story. That much had stayed the same.

I lifted my hand and allowed my fingers to lightly brush the tops of the book spines as I walked down the length of the shelves. The place was virtually deserted. It was before noon in the middle of the week; everyone was either at work or school. I had neither at the moment.

The librarian shot me a friendly smile as I passed by her desk, and I mimicked the expression in response. As soon as I'd passed, I turned down a row of bookshelves that led to the wall. In the past, there would normally be a chair or a couch for people to sit and read. I made my way all the way to the back, where I came upon a couch set up against an empty stretch of wall, and I stopped short. It was occupied, and by the last person I'd expected to see in a quiet library.

Jerome was sitting on the couch, his arm propped up on the armrest, and his head resting in his hand. He was fast asleep.

I stared in amazement at the slumbering redhead, wondering if what I was seeing was actually real. He seemed so peaceful, a stark contrast to the energetic, wild-eyed boy I had met the day before. I was tempted to nudge him awake, but the dark circles under his eyes stopped me. He was tired.

Glancing around, I noticed another couch about twenty feet away, unoccupied. I took a step forward towards the other couch, and the floorboard underneath my foot made a horribly loud creak. My heart jumped, and I froze, startled.

A low chuckle came from the couch to my right. I looked over my shoulder, and a pair of amused and delighted green eyes met mine. Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, he was grinning at me with his usual gleeful smile. The corners of my lips lifted of their own volition, and I found myself smiling back softly.

"Fancy seeing you here, gorgeous," he said in low, gravelly tones. He had a nice voice.

"Yes, fancy that," I replied, turning to face him fully. I crossed my arms and cocked my head. "Looking for victims in the public library? You won't find many at this hour."

Jerome cackled. "I found you, didn't I? Maybe that's all I need."

I scoffed. "Just try something, I dare you. You know what happened to the other guys."

A strange glint appeared in his eyes, and he rose to his feet. I realized for the first time how big he was compared to me. I was not exceptionally tall, but I was no runt either. Jerome towered over me, and he moved closer, causing me to reflexively move away. My back touched the end of a bookshelf, and I started to wonder if teasing him had been a good idea.

"Be careful what you dare me to do, gorgeous," he said, resting his hand on the wood above my head. "I love dares."

I had been cornered before, and my reaction is always the same. My vision turns red, my heart begins to beat wildly out of control, time slows around me, and I have a powerful urge to attack. Mother used to say that it was because her family had fire in their veins, fire that burned hottest whenever they sensed danger. She used to say that I had the same fire in my veins.

This time, I was cornered, but my blood did not boil. My vision did not turn red, and I did not feel a desire to kick and slash and tear. I was calm. I was… entertained.

"That so?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Did someone dare you to sleep in the library? What are you doing in here?"

Jerome cocked his head to the side and looked away, pretending to think.

"Well, I was taking a nap," he said. "Mother dearest had a visitor last night who. Just. Wouldn't. Leave. So I came here this morning to get some sleep. The librarian doesn't care."

"Ah, sorry I woke you," I apologized with a guilty frown. "I saw you and decided to let you sleep. The floorboard had other ideas."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm not complaining, gorgeous. It's not everyday I see a face as beautiful as yours when I wake up."

"Another entry to add to my journal highlights," I deadpanned calmly. "'Dear Diary, the local serial killer called me beautiful today. I can die happy now.'"

"Ha ha ha. I see you're not letting that go anytime soon," said Jerome, rolling his eyes.

"Nope."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Currently, I'm stuck between a serial killer and a bookcase, and I'm wondering why."

Jerome chuckled. "You mean that you don't know? Really?"

I eyed him carefully, trying to understand what he meant. Jerome loomed over me, watching me with the same intensity as he had the day before. Then it hit me. Had I not been living in the earthly equivalent of hell for five years, I might have been a little scared and uneasy at how close and intimidating he was. As it was, I was more amused and intrigued than anything else.

Tilting my head upwards slightly, I stepped forward, invading his personal space. I lifted a curious eyebrow and watched as his grin changed into something darker, hungrier.

"Nope. You'll have to show me. Slow wit, remember?" I replied, obviously lying.

I understood exactly what he was doing, and, strangely enough, I wasn't opposed. I liked him. He was strange, wild, and so utterly different from any other boy I'd ever met, and I liked that. He was also attractive, which definitely helped.

The moment the words left my mouth, something in his dark green eyes shifted, and he lunged forward, capturing my lips in a kiss. I gasped against his mouth at the sudden move, but I did not pull away. The kiss was gentle at first, light.

Hands rested on my hips, but this time I did not stiffen or freeze in restrained fury at being touched. I became bold, and my teeth sank into his bottom lip. Not hard, but hard enough for him to pull back in surprise.

Jerome looked down at me in amazement, caught off guard by what I'd done. I grinned at him, missing the contact. Then, he laughed suddenly and bent to kiss me again. This time, the kiss was forceful, rough, and electric. My back slammed against the bookcase end, and I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck.

All space between our bodies disappeared as the kiss became more wild and unrestrained. Jerome gripped my thigh and lifted it up, hooking it over his hip, and he pressed his body against me even further, trapping me against the bookcase. I doubt I could have dislodged him even if I wanted to, and I did not want to.

His lips left mine and trailed open-mouthed kisses along my jaw and on my neck. I bit my lip at the sensation, and I buried my fingers in Jerome's thick, fiery hair. My nails raked down his scalp, and teeth nipped at the juncture between neck and shoulder in response. I squeaked involuntarily. Jerome's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter when he heard me, but he continued his attentions to my neck.

Then, it happened.

"Mommy, I wanna go to the park! Books are lame!"

We both froze, still locked in each other's arms. It was clear that neither of us thought that anyone else would be here at this hour, except the librarian, and she was far on the other side of the library.

"Hush! We are in a library," hissed a woman's voice. "And books are not lame. All of the smart children read. You want to be smart, right?"

The voices were moving steadily closer, and Jerome and I glanced at each other worriedly.

"But… the park!" wailed the little boy. "I wanna go to the park!"

"Oh, for god's sake, Billy!" the woman huffed in disgust. "We are getting a book for you, so be quiet and suck it up!"

The footsteps moved closer to where we stood at a faster pace than before. We both sprang into action, and we bolted down the rows of bookcases, clutching at each other's coats as we ran. Before the woman and boy rounded the corner, we ducked into a row of shelves and stood there silently, both of us panting from the run.

"What was that? Who was running?"

I clapped a hand over my mouth before a sound could escape me, and I looked over and saw that Jerome was practically vibrating with silent laughter. Our eyes met, and I doubled over, trying desperately not to explode. I could feel the veins in my forehead and neck stand out as I struggled.

Jerome suddenly took hold of my arm and pulled me down the row toward the exit. A moment later, we burst through the doors and into the sunlight. I allowed the doors to close fully before a full, hysterical belly laugh tore its way out of me. Tears began to pool in my eyes, and I noticed then that Jerome was not laughing. He was staring at me, grinning from ear to ear.

"You have a perfect laugh, gorgeous," he said, starting to move closer to me again.

"Thanks," I chuckled giddily. "Oh man, that was fun. I haven't laughed like that in years."

"Really? That's a shame." Jerome touched my cheekbone where the bruise began. "You should laugh like that more often."

"You seem to have a gift for bringing them out of me," I replied with a grin. "Not sure why a serial killer can do that, though."

Jerome rolled his eyes and leant down to press his lips against mine. It was sweet and completely unrushed, even though we were on a street sidewalk. His hand cupped my cheek, and suddenly a thought occurred to. I pulled back first, causing Jerome to frown in confusion.

"Wait, a second. This is crazy," I said, shaking my head as I laid my palm against his chest. "We only met yesterday. You don't even know my name! I don't even know your surname!"

"Crazy, huh? You know, darling, that's easily fixed," he chuckled. He gave a showy bow and said, "Jerome Valeska, at your service. And, you are?"

"Dany," I said hesitantly. Whatever uncertainty I had was fading quickly. This was fast, maybe too fast. Yet, my warning bells were not going off. They were silent. "Dany King."

"Dany King…" Jerome tested the name, eying me as he paused to consider it. Then, he grinned. "Well, nice to finally meet you, Miss King."

I rolled my eyes. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Valeska. Now what?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," he replied, shrugging. "You'll find I make everything up as I go along. I move around too much for any proper plans."

Crossing my arms, I frowned at him. "So, this was just a spur of the moment thing? You kissed me on a whim?"

Jerome laughed again. "No, gorgeous! I wanted to kiss you when I first saw you!"

My mouth fell open slightly, and I stared up at him, not entirely sure whether to believe him or not. After a moment, I shook myself and closed my mouth. There was no point in jumping to conclusions. He hadn't explained himself yet.

"Ignoring the cheesiness of that statement, why?" I asked once I could get my voice to work.

Jerome's grin became almost predatorial as he stepped closer. "Because, Dany King, you are like me. You're good at hiding it. Too good. I almost didn't catch it until you slipped and nearly broke that creep's arm."

"Oh? And how, exactly, are we similar?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him in question.

Jerome reached up and lightly brushed back my bangs, revealing my black eye. I couldn't help but notice once again how my body did not tense and prepare to fight at his touch. There was something oddly liberating about being able to be touched without my fight or flight sense coming to life. I had no idea why this was the case, but I realized in that moment that ever since meeting this boy, I had not needed to fake a single emotion, a single smile. I had not needed to pretend at all.

"Because, darling, if you weren't like me, a girl that's been beaten like you so recently wouldn't have fought back. She would have wilted on the spot, like the lady making the drinks. She would have been too scared," he murmured, green eyes wide and fascinated as they trailed over my features. Then, he chuckled. "But you're not scared, are you?"

"I still don't see how that makes us so similar," I replied, still holding onto my skepticism. Trusting Jerome felt right, but my mind had yet to relinquish the possibility that this was wrong. And so, I stepped forward and met his dark gaze and said, "Do you live your life teetering on the edge of insanity because your world has been ripped from you? Are you always one moment, one touch, one word away from snapping and destroying everything and everyone in your path? Do you hide your nature so deep within yourself that you've forgotten who you are? Would the world call you insane if they saw you for what you really are?"

"Yes." The answer was so instantaneous that it caught me off guard. Jerome was not smiling anymore. He was gazing at me with such amazement and fascination, and I couldn't help but wonder what on earth he was possibly seeing in me. "You're singing my song, gorgeous. Where have you been all my life?"

The smile had returned in full force, and, for the first time, I noticed the truly sinister edge to his expression. I should have been afraid. The rational part of my mind screamed at me, begging me to be scared, to run away at top speed. but my instincts whispered in a voice loud as thunder, stay.

There is no reasonable explanation for why I made the decision I did, except that I wanted to. This boy definitely had a few screws knocked loose, but, then again, so did I. There was no chance that this… thing would have a happy ending, but, then again, people like us never seemed to be meant for happy endings. We are all on a one-way trip to the grave. Some trips last a century, some never make it out of the crib. I did not know how long my trip would take, but I knew that I could not pass up an opportunity to make the ride extraordinary.

And so, after a moment of silence, I pushed myself onto my toes, and I pressed a kiss to Jerome's lips. My hand reached up, and my fingers curled in his soft, red locks. Immediately, Jerome responded in earnest, and the kiss grew ravenous. He wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me to him, enveloping me in warmth. The air around us was frigid, and the clouds threatened snow, but the cold did not bother us one bit.

We broke apart for air, our foreheads touching as our eyes met. Glee and exhilaration sparkled in Jerome's dark green orbs, and it struck me in that moment just how handsome he was.

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, replying to his earlier question. "Where have you been all my life? I would've been a lot more fun about five years ago."

He cackled. The sound brought a wide smile to my lips, and I did not try to stop the chuckle that rose up from my throat to accompany his. Jerome gave an exaggerated shrug, arms still around me as he did so. He seemed hesitant to remove them, and I was not complaining.

"I live with the circus, gorgeous," he grinned. "I've been everywhere. Besides, we're here now. Want to grab a coffee and help me plot my next crime?"

I rolled my eyes, but I nodded, still smiling. In a city as gray and depressing as Gotham was, two people as cheery as us must have looked rather odd and out of place to anyone passing us by. No doubt there were people staring at us, but I did not care. For the first time in five years, I felt well and truly alive. I no longer felt as though my ride through life would be a slow and steady trudge towards the end. This choice marked the beginning of my life, and, no matter what happened afterwards, I will never regret my decision.


End file.
